


choke me like you hate me (but you love me)

by breezeeblocks



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Choking, Coming In Pants, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Grinding, Kink Discovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27638917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breezeeblocks/pseuds/breezeeblocks
Summary: It's a gradual discovery.Every hint and comment, reaction and expression. All lead George to a journey of questioning and, ultimately, figuring out what's going through his boyfriend’s mind.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 320





	choke me like you hate me (but you love me)

**Author's Note:**

> sooo after some poetic and lovely stuff i bring some kinky but fluffy stuff to y’know... change it up a little! i hope you enjoy <3 
> 
> comments are very very much appreciated!

It's a gradual discovery.

Every hint and comment, reaction and expression. All lead George to a journey of questioning and, ultimately, figuring out what's going through his boyfriend’s mind.

If a start can be pinpointed, it’d be the first time George raised his voice in bed. Or, took charge.

A casual make-out session with a sprinkle of grinding where George had gotten fed up—frustrated, hasty movements and droplets of sweat dribbling down his back, until he sat up and looked Dream dead in the eye. Goosebumps instantly arising, underneath George’s body, he gulped.

“Aren't you gonna do anything?” Pushing back against him, George said firmly. Not shyly, not softly. A hoarse voice and nearly mocking tone, that seemingly reduced Dream to shambles.

“I—"

Moments like these, stuttered words, lumps stuck in his throat and glowing cheeks, progressively form an idea in the back of George’s head. An idea, or a thought, that sticks, and so George begins to play with it. No surprise, Dream lets up a lot sooner than expected.

“Baby,” whispered against his ear, as George leans down to kiss under it.

“You—you've been calling me,  _ ah _ , baby a lot lately,” it's lame, the way Dream rather accuses him, partly because he's stumbling over his words and failing at such a simple task as it is  _ speaking _ , so George can only smirk and send a smug look his way.

“You like it?”

Dream's sharp intake of breath is a dead giveaway. 

“Noted.”

As their lips find each other again, and George squeezes his legs around Dream's waist just a bit tighter, Dream's impatience starts getting to him. So George puts him in his place, but just slightly. Grabbing his shoulders and pressing his body further into the bed, until Dream looks up at him with bottomless eyes and desire dripping from them, like molten lava, trailing down to his burning cheeks. It's a sight to be framed.

“A bit  _ greedy _ , aren't we?”

There's a groan that George can tell Dream fights to swallow, keep down, but it comes out once George's fingers dance on his stomach and shifts his body on top of his crotch at a leisurely and torturous pace, prompting Dream to get more fidgety. He cants his hips up, and this time George is the one that lets out a sound of his own. It's not pleasurable friction of any kind, per se, but the sensation of dragging it out—watching as Dream loses control under him, has him sensitive to any touch.

Kissing should be overrated by now, or at least boring, but Dream's lips are a different situation. Dream's lips are addictive, fierce and fleshy yet delicate, warm pecks on a cold morning, crimson smiles on late-night walks. George doesn't get tired, no matter how plump and numb his own lips go, every time they kiss feels like a first time. Extremely clichéd, he knows, but it helps keep him going.

So he allows the moment to turn a bit mushy.

“I love you,” George murmurs. A heavy weight settles on his chest. It's the purest form of love.

“I love you too.”

Though, after a chaste kiss, Dream decides to grab onto the back of his neck to push him down, until their chests are inches apart, and George can  _ feel  _ every beat of his heart. It's helpful, in a way, when George nibbles on his bottom lip, holds his jaw with one hand, and places the other where his shoulder meets his neck—and Dream's heart definitely misses more than one beat. A sensitive spot, it seems.

George plays with it. Dream just falls pliant.

“There's no lube,” raspy voice and all, George states against his ear. However, he doesn't stop grinding against Dream, who appears to be enjoying it more than it's acceptable for a twenty-one-year-old man. 

(Dream would always say their relationship is just two horny teenagers—George partially agrees). 

“Look—in the bottom drawer,” Dream motions at the bedside table, keen on getting his dick  _ something _ apart from feeble friction that only leaves him on edge.

George,  _ dumb _ and foolish as he is, leans forward as to reach for the drawer pull, and uses his grip on Dream's neck for leverage. A bad idea. Terrible, awful. Dream whines seemingly in pain but doesn't cough much (George is quick to pull back and allow him to breathe properly).

“I’m sorry, fuck, sorry,” George chants, “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah…” Dream clears his throat. “I'm—fine.”

With his dick having almost completely gone limp, George stares at Dream's flushed face and waits for any signal. Though, the hints have been there all along. All this time. His gaze shifts down towards Dream's crotch and notices how he's still, well,  _ throbbing _ under his sweatpants. The red dust on his cheeks, and his clammy palms resting on George’s exposed thighs. Then, he glances up, fixes his eyes on him, and stares until Dream's lips are red and slick from the amount of times he has nervously (anxiously—impatiently, or for pleasure overall) bitten them, until the counter for how many times he has gulped goes up to five. 

“Is there something you wanna tell me,  _ Clay _ ?” 

Dream just covers his face.

“Shut up.”

George begins to kiss his neck, starting from the dip of his collarbones up to the sharpness of his jaw. Dream lets out small, almost inaudible noises, but George makes sure to catch them. And to make them louder, too. 

Although he's half-hard, pushing everything including himself and his own needs aside, George goes back to rubbing his ass against Dream's bulge. Like teenagers, it is. Dream doesn't look too opposed to the idea, as he throws his head back and then moans, once and for all, when George’s teeth sink into his skin. It's rewarding watching him crumble, turning into putty under George’s hands, taken to his most primitive state. So he continues at a normal pace, relishing in every sound and tremble that goes down his spine.

His hands, somehow, find their way to Dream’s neck again, caressing each side. Underneath him, Dream shakes slightly, and that's what makes George's own dick visibly  _ twitch _ . Cupping his face, he leans down until their breaths mingle.

“Tell me if this is okay,” George mumbles, “okay?”

Dream can only nod, really, as the weight of George’s body leaning back presses against him, and the urge to rip all of his clothes and just whip his dick out gets stronger by the minute. 

Soft, warm skin, screaming for George’s fingers to wrap around it, so he does—slowly. George allows his hands to explore a bit, tickle him, test the waters. Learn where Dream is most sensitive. But George has his own limits, too, and there's only much he can wait. So he adds pressure where his fingers are placed around Dream's throat, and watches as Dream's eyes roll back and his hips jerk. It's a breathtaking view. In response, George rolls his own hips, giving Dream what he's desperately looking for.

And George revels in it. 

Every sound, every expression, every encouraging word uttered. It's not only a discovery for Dream, but for him, too.

George releases his grip before a minute passes, no matter how entrancing it can get, Dream's health is of main importance. Though, he doesn't look so happy as his body quivers and his eyes scream for more.

“I liked that,” catching his breath, Dream announces, “I  _ like _ that.”

“Well, I noticed,” George chuckles, “you have a very sensitive neck,  _ baby _ .” 

Dream grips George’s thighs, then, motioning for him to move again, or do something. So George does, clearly. He's no one to deprive Dream of what he desires. Shifting a bit on top of him, attempting to find the perfect position, George allows Dream to guide his movements with his hands on his waist, and George leans forward with one hand on each side of his head.

Hair spread on the pillow like a halo, Dream appears almost angelic. It's George’s hand around his neck moments later that ruins the image. Or, creates a contrast, a piece of  _ art _ . 

(He wishes he had his camera with him, wishes he could capture what Dream isn't seeing). 

A low but rapidly growing fire begins burning at the pit of his stomach, and as pleasure oozes through him like wildfire, it finally dawns on him how much pleasure he's getting from this, too. How tingles race across his body, how much he gets off from watching Dream moaning under him simply by  _ grinding _ . Humping each other. And a hand around his throat. 

“You're,” Dream utters, so George quickly eases some pressure, “the best thing in my life.”

“Please don't get cheesy while I’m  _ choking _ you,” a fond smile takes over his entire asserting demeanor, but George doesn't care about appearances anymore. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Dream holds onto his hips like his life depends on it (and it seems like he's on edge already, given by how hurried and erratic his movements have gotten), encouraging George to get his hands back on him. This time, George joins their lips first, traces his tongue along Dream’s bottom lip as he swallows every sound that comes out when George matches his pace. Once he's satisfied, leaving Dream’s mouth with a very dark color, George’s hands travel up his body, caressing every divot and mark until they reach his neck.

In contrast, he's not tentative about the way his hand applies pressure around his throat. He's not soft, nor shy, he locks gazes and lets himself be guided by the fire taking over him.

It appears to affect the both of them the same way, rubbing against each other being enough to reach the edge, and then it's as simple as Dream's eyes disappearing into his skull as he lets out a choked-up groan, and the visual of George’s hand remaining on his neck, to make George come, too. Both in their pants. Both ridiculously clothed. 

“Fuck,” Dream coughs, licks his lips, and looks at George with twinkling eyes, “we are teenagers.”

“A bit more kinkier, don't you think?”

Dream giggles, and his cheeks are glowing in the dim lighting of the room, a dazzling red that fills George with different types of love. 

“Sorry if it was weird, I—” 

Not allowing him to finish, well aware of his intentions, (apologizing, feeling embarrassed, everything George doesn't want his boyfriend to feel), George cuts him off with a chaste kiss. 

“It's not  _ weird _ ,” George reassures him, “it's actually very normal nowadays. And I'm very happy that I discovered it, even if it was an accident, because you'd have  _ never  _ told me otherwise.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn't  _ know _ ,” as Dream moves, George feels his underwear  _ sticky _ , and the urge to shower overtakes him.

“We can talk about it, y’know, more in-depth,” George proposes, “preferably in the shower.”

Dream looks down at the wet spot on his sweatpants. “Yeah, let’s shower.”   
  


  


**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr @lesbiangogy


End file.
